Try and Try Until You
by FuyuSarah
Summary: In which Adrien and Marinette fight to protect their wedding night.


**Credit:** This sin is based on a scenario by an anon to miraculer on tumblr. She extended the scanario, which I built on, which resulted in this.

Dedicated to ParadiseAvenger (the genius responsible for _Le Chat Noir_ ) and bullysquadess (the brilliant mind behind _The Ladybugs and the Bees_ ).

* * *

Marinette thought that it was going to be a little more nerve-wracking, but now it's finally happened— is happening— will happen… The feeling of relief and joy and love and gratitude to all things powerful is so overwhelming, she can do nothing else but giggle as Adrien pulls her towards the elevator doors. Behind them, the intimate assembly of their friends and family is cheering, and Alya's most likely still recording this.

Adrien smiles at her, so warmly that Marinette literally swoons, and if it wasn't for the strong arm he's wrapped around her waist, she'd have melted to the floor right then and there. A hint of mischief—one with which she's not at all unfamiliar—seeps into his shining emerald eyes, and in the next heartbeat, he swoops down and bestows her with a searing kiss that children absolutely should not be watching.

"Get a room, you guys!" Nino laughs from the ballroom, his voice sounding so far away to Marinette. She loves him like a brother, she really does, but at the moment, she wishes that he and the rest of the guests were much _much_ farther away. Preferably not at all in the same vicinity.

Adrien pulls away, laughing, as well, while Marinette can't help the whine that escapes her throat.

"That's the idea!" he answers just as the elevator dings beside them.

He gives their audience a two-finger salute as he pulls Marinette along with him. She somehow manages a wave, herself, and a flying kiss to her parents, right before the doors closed.

The immediate silence is deafening, but not in a bad way. _Never_ in a bad way, not when Adrien is tracing soft circles on her elbows while looking at her so tenderly.

"I love you," she tells him.

"I love you, too," is his ready answer, voice lilting _just so_.

"Kitty cat."

"My Lady."

"Husband."

" _Wife_."

Marinette has yet to understand how Adrien can go so quickly from gentle, warm, and adoring in one second, to powerful, sizzling, and passionate in the next.

Not that she's complaining.

Her back hits the elevator wall as his hands pull her torso to his own at the same time he bodily pushes against her. Her hands fly up to either side of his face, fingertips brushing the ends his flaxen hair before delving deep into it, holding him to her as if he would try to get away.

Whoever's manning the security cameras is getting quite a show, but while Marinette is generally a private person—she and Adrien keep their public displays of affection to holding hands and chaste kisses as if they were still attending Collège Françoise Dupont—she didn't particularly care, at the moment.

She would care, though, if anyone made the elevator so much as _pause_ before they reached their suite.

Anyone, for example, who lets out a bloodcurdling scream that penetrates the hotel walls, elevator doors, and the blood roaring in Marinette's ears.

They separate with a rather lewd smack and twin gasps, eyes wide and immediately on high alert. They share a quick look of understanding, and Adrien swivels around to slam a fist onto the button for the next floor.

* * *

The good news is: it was a rather quick and easy fight. Their partnership has been seamless for years, and perhaps the fact that they are now _married_ helped. (It's only a piece of paper, of course, but one can't deny that the idea of it still had a psychological effect, somehow.)

The battle is contained within the hotel, Ladybug and Chat Noir save the day, and everyone returns to business as usual as if nothing had happened. The heroes make a show of bidding the citizens farewell and leaping out of the window, seemingly into the Parisian skyline. No one notices that they actually don't venture very far; that they scale the walls so they could reach their own hotel room window without further interruption.

Plagg and Tikki retreat elsewhere in the suite after a quick word of congratulations. They're now predictably used to how their charges spend their private time together—even Plagg had stopped complaining, and instead chooses to tease Adrien about his ardor, much like Nino's constant ribbing.

Marinette reaches up at the same time Adrien leans down, this time. The rewarding feeling of saving Paris, mixed into his invigorating scent, makes her unimaginably dizzy. Trying to focus after receiving a hit from her enemy was easier than _this._ Adrien is not her enemy, of course—heavens forbid!—but his touch, his mere _presence_ , is intoxicating. It disarms her, sometimes, renders her practically senseless, traps her so that she can think of nothing else but him. It is a kind of capture that she's willing to go through repeatedly for the rest of her life.

And she will.

They declared their wedding vows a few hours ago, but the truth is that they'd made countless promises to each other much longer before that. Promises in the playful banter across rooftops, in the uttered reassurances in the darkness of his lonely room, in the laughter in her warm home— in each throw of her bandalore, in each swing of his staff, in each attack, each deflection, each attempt to sacrifice self for the other in the heat of battle.

She tips backwards, and she feels his hand snap to the back of her head to cushion her fall. He's always protecting her; even now, when she hardly needs saving from the plush bedding beneath them. If anything, she's eager for it. She's eager to feel the mattress dip as he supports his weight on one elbow so that one free hand can travel up her side, pulling the hem of her chamise as it does. She's eager to finally be lying horizontal, to finally stop pretending like she can keep standing upright, to remove the weight from her straining limbs. To lift her legs so that she can run the soles of her feet on his still clothed calves.

He positively _thrums_. She feels the vibration everywhere, but most especially in that blessed spot where his lips are currently attached to her fluttering pulse, and the knowledge that she is responsible for that response sends delicious shivers down her own spine.

They're not even completely naked yet, and she's already a gasping mess.

She thinks she might go insane if he keeps going.

She thinks she might go insane if he stops.

She thinks she can feel another akuma attack from the other side of the city.

She thinks he can feel it, too, judging by the sudden tenseness of his back.

It doesn't happen all the time, feeling an akuma. Most times they still rely on posts to the Ladyblog, the news channels, or the sound of nearby screaming. But there are times when they just _know_.

And when they _know_ , they can't ignore it, even if they wanted to.

And, _god_ , do they want to, right now.

She kisses his temple and cards her fingers through his hair to make him look up at her.

She's still panting, but she smiles and promises, "Later."

His eyes are still dark with want, but he grins and affirms, "Later."

* * *

Even when she was rebuffing his advances, she had always been aware of Chat Noir's attractive looks and his lithe but strong body, outlined by his immensely sinful suit.

After she stopped being in denial of her feelings for him, it opened the floodgates to many new conversations about their relationship, as well as countless fantasies that came to her, unbidden, in the night (or even in the day). There's been more than one instance, after (or even during) a battle, that Ladybug wanted to run her hands all over him while in uniform.

This is one of those instances.

She turns to him after the akuma is pulled from its dwelling—a 5-Euro bill—and is purified. He bumps her outstretched fist with his own, but he pulls away immediately as if he'd been burned. She takes a step towards him, concerned. He takes a step back, guarded.

"My Lady," he warns, eyes glinting in the darkness, "if you come closer, we might not make it back to our room."

She begins to wonder if that's truly a terrible idea, but before she can make a decision, he jumps off of the roof and to the next one.

He'd told her, very early on in their partnership, that he'd follow her anywhere. But there are times when it's _her_ turn to chase after him.

* * *

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

But hell hath no fury like a _ready and wanting_ superhero denied far too many times of her _ready and wanting_ _husband_ on their _wedding night_ , of all nights.

She might have destroyed the akumatized object—a _bagel_ ; seriously, what the _hell?!_ —with more force than necessary. She might have banished it, instead of bid it goodbye. But she honestly couldn't care less, because this akuma's timing couldn't have been worse.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had literally just stepped in through the window, the glow of their de-transformations had barely cleared, they hadn't even so much as kissed again yet, when Adrien grit his teeth.

"Another one?!" he'd asked as Marinette ran for their bags for their supply of cheese and cookies.

It was the first time that Marinette ever saw Tikki swallow two whole cookies at the same time, much like how Plagg would devour a wheel of camembert in one gulp. Without missing a beat, Adrien had bundled her up in his shirt, not caring about his own bare torso.

Ladybug and Chat Noir had leapt out of the window again before anyone could say, "Miraculous."

They defeated the akuma in a swift battle. Ladybug's laser focus allowed her to immediately spot where the akuma was, even without knowing the situation. She didn't even need to use a Lucky Charm, as Chat Noir wove through the enemy's attacks and snatched it. And when she captured the dark butterfly, her greeting had the underlying meaning of, "Oh, _**hell no**_ **,** you are not delaying my wedding night any further, you _vile akuma_!"

Her ladybugs haven't quite yet finished putting the city to rights, but she doesn't stand around to watch them, doesn't even greet the disoriented victim. She runs to where Chat Noir is slumped inside a nearby alley.

"Are you okay?" she inquires, helping him stand and looking him over for any injuries. The fight was quick, yes, but, towards the end, Chat Noir had found the need to receive a blow for her—of course he had.

He laughs hoarsely. "I just got elbowed a little, Bugaboo, don't you worry."

They both know that's untrue. She communicates her reprimand with a look.

"Okay, so I got a bit distracted after I passed you the bagel. Because, really? A bagel?!"

If it wasn't for the churning in her gut, she'd have laughed right along with him. But she's out of sorts from the cocktail of emotions coursing through her: worry at the fact that he's standing tense and rigid, anger for his disregard for his own wellbeing, and the leftover but still substantial _hunger_ for him.

Her thoughts flit through her face without her permission. He stares at her, and she knows he's reading her—he'd gotten quite adept at it through the years.

"Admit it," he coaxes her with a salacious smirk on his lips, "you find it paw-sitively impressive and brave and hot when I save you."

"I find it unnecessary."

"And brave."

"And annoying."

"And hot."

She doesn't deny that one.

It's his turn to have his back hit the wall when she jumps him. Seductive though he was, he still chokes in surprise at the intensity of her kiss. He breaks away from her immediately, however, and she almost whacks the back of his head in annoyance.

"Not here," he gasps.

"Yes, here," she insists.

And then she's smashing their lips together again, because _it's her wedding night_ , dammit.

They both know that he could never resist her like this—not that he'd ever truly tried—but just to be sure, she presses her hips to his and lets out a moan.

The result is instantaneous.

His hands latch themselves onto her derrière as he almost involuntarily bucks into her softness. He's supposed to be the cat, here, but the sound Ladybug emits can only be called a desperate mewl.

"You are _deadly_ , My Lady," he rasps as he turns them around.

This way, he can effectively grind against her, and she can explore his mouth without standing on her tiptoes. She briefly traces the planes and ridges of his chest before deciding that she needed to feel _texture_ on her fingertips, as well.

She coils a leg around his hips, celebrating the low rumble he gives in response, and releases her transformation without speaking. She's just about to indulge herself in the feel of his form-fitting uniform when he follows her lead, momentarily bathing the alley way in a flash of green.

Marinette had wanted to feel the material of the suit he wears when he fights beside her, but when her palms feel Adrien's hot skin beneath them, she couldn't find it in her to protest. Her mouth has better things to do, anyway.

He pulls away for a breath, and she hears something clatter somewhere to the side, before he returns to her lips with a muttering of, "Enjoy."

Enjoy? Well, yes, she's quite enjoying herself, thank you very much.

She hears a pair of small voices emit a quiet "Thanks", and she realizes that the clattering sound is her purse of kwami supplies. She doesn't remember actually slinging it across her torso before leaving the hotel, however, so how…?

It hits her that her partner, her wonderful, beautiful, magnificent husband, had had the presence of mind to grab it on their way out. Not only that, but he was thoughtful enough to give it—or toss it, really—to their little friends even though they didn't necessarily need it yet.

Her heart bursts with love and pride for this precious man.

Her lust-induced haze flares with this fresh injection of tenderness, and the exquisite combination roils her very being, ravages her veins and screams _more, more, more_.

The pace of his rolling hips is rough and impassioned, now, more than a little crazed but still holding onto some semblance of control. Her fingers scrabble for purchase on his shoulders as his grip on her raised thigh tightens almost to the point of pain. She wishes he would just shove his pants down so he could—

The booming sound of an explosion resounds in the distance, and they both freeze.

"Oh, for the love of—" he growls into her neck.

She whimpers, half in frustration at the absurdity of it all, and half in luscious delirium because that growl… That growl did _things_ to her body just then.

He crushes his hips to hers one last time, and she keens. They stay still for a one, two, three pounding heartbeats, as if memorizing the feel of the throbbing heat so they can get through whatever god-awful situation was ahead of them.

He wrenches away from her, bellowing a "PLAGG!" in the alley.

She blinks away the fuzzy, pleasured spots in her vision, trying with all her might not to slide down the wall.

"Marinette," Tikki's sweet voice calls. Marinette's eyes focus to see her kwami floating in front of her. She's carrying the purse, waiting for her human to collect herself. "Are you—… Can you stand?"

In the corner of her eye, she catches Chat Noir whirl around to look at her. She wonders if he knows why her legs have turned to jelly. Probably not, judging by the alarm on his face.

"I'm okay," Marinette manages, taking the purse from Tikki. "I'm okay."

"Marinette…" Chat Noir begins, "I can go ahead and—"

"No," she interrupts as she stands fully.

She flexes her fists.

"Come on, Kitty. I have an akuma to pulverize."

* * *

The sun is out.

Marinette sways a little in her spot in the hotel lobby. Her vision is somewhat blurred from exhaustion, but she can pick out Adrien's golden-haired head from the people at the reception desk. He was going to order them some breakfast, he'd said.

She knows he's tired, too, but Marinette is amazed how Adrien can still function. She feels dead on her feet, and that she'd teeter to the floor any minute now.

"Nino and Alya," Tikki whispers from her place in her purse before diving out of view.

Marinette loves her best friends, she really does, but she'd really prefer it if she didn't have to speak with them coherently. She's just so _worn out_ and _pissed_ and she's afraid she might say the wrong thing, and she really did not want to stay here any longer than she has to. But Alya is a journalist and a journalist always asks.

"Marinette?"

See? Even the way she calls her name is a question.

"Hm?"

"Hey, is that a new dress?"

Marinette gives a start at the unexpected subject. Well, it _is_ a new dress, yes. They'd rescued a second-hand thrift store owner earlier, and during the fight, Chat Noir had joked something or other about the store having nice clothes he'd probably wear. He hadn't noticed that the owner had heard, and that, in his gratitude, he would offer that the Miraculous duo get anything they wanted from the store. (Ladybug and Chat Noir grabbed the first, most generic-looking clothes they could find. You know….secret identity and all.) That was maybe three or maybe five akuma fights ago. How many did they have to fight, in total? Ten? Twenty? Marinette had stopped counting, to be honest.

(At least a quarter of those were rabid Adrien Agreste fans who were heartbroken over the change of his relationship status. Marinette would have pitied them, if only they decided to be akumatized after her honeymoon.)

Marinette only hums, still not trusting her tongue. She smooths down her dress, eternally thankful of the store owner. She and Adrien (as well as their kwamis) had gotten so exhausted that they could barely keep their transformations up, much less jump or vault over Paris. They had to take a cab back to the hotel in their civilian forms, and she couldn't imagine doing that with only a soiled dress shirt on. (Neither could Adrien Agreste, top model, be seen in the streets wearing nothing but the pair of pants from his wedding the previous day.)

She wonders why Alya didn't think to ask about her obviously weary state.

When Adrien joins them, though, she understands why.

"Heeeey," Nino greets him with a grin.

She knows that grin well; Adrien had been on the receiving end of that grin ever since he'd started dating her and—according to Nino—spent countless hours daydreaming with stars in his eyes. It makes sense that Nino and Alya would assume—

"Long night?" Nino asks.

It is proof of Adrien's own fatigue that he doesn't catch Nino's tone and answers, rather mechanically, "Yeah."

"Congratulations, my brother, on your miraculous wedding night."

That seems to wake Adrien, making his eyebrows shoot up. "What?"

Nino's grin grows wider, and it takes Adrien another moment to understand his friend's implication. Marinette swears she could hear his thoughts:

 _Ah, by "miraculous", he didn't mean—_

 _Ah, he actually meant—_

Marinette expected him to laugh and joke along with Nino, like he usually did, so it's a surprise when her husband actually frowns.

No, more like _glowers_.

Nino's smile falters. "Wha—?"

"Excuse us," Adrien says, suddenly, seizing Marinette's hand and pulling her to the hallways to the elevators. It's almost a repeat of the previous night, only instead of a laughing husband, she had a vehement one.

"Adrien?" Marinette asks, confused, as she struggles to keep up with him.

"I forgot."

"What?"

A pair of elevator doors conveniently opens when they arrive, and Adrien pulls her in, burrows his face into her neck, and _breathes_.

"I forgot," he repeats. "I convinced myself that we were just staying in a hotel with friends, and that we weren't married and I _forgot_."

"Why would you—"

"I couldn't _function_ ," Adrien grinds out between clenched teeth. "It was our wedding night and I couldn't _touch_ you without all hell breaking lose every five minutes, and it's like they _know_ that Ladybug and Chat Noir were getting married and decided to wreak havoc just to spite us. I almost couldn't protect you, that time with the bagel akuma, and after that I had to repeatedly tell myself that you weren't _mine_ just so I could focus on the fight without going insane."

 _Oh_.

And to think, the whole night, Marinette thought that _she_ was the only one going crazy. They didn't exactly have time to sit down and have a heart-to-heart talk, in between the attacks.

"We were so tired, and I wasn't thinking straight anymore," he continues. "Convincing myself was easy."

She kisses his temple and cards her fingers through his hair, much like that moment that felt so long ago, except that it was just from last night. _"Later,"_ they had promised.

At her prompting, he pulls away from her, only to bring their foreheads together. His eyes are still closed.

"Well, I _am_ yours," she tells him.

"And I, yours," he answers.

"We're married," she adds.

"We're married," he sighs.

"And you can touch me. In fact, you already are."

His eyes open, then, and what she sees is not her laughing, gentle Adrien, nor her playful, flirty Chat Noir. It is a combination of the two, and she's seen this version many times before, but never has his gaze contained such electric ferocity of delight, worship, and starvation.

"Believe me, My Lady," he purrs against her lips. "I haven't quite touched you yet."


End file.
